Archer
by Michael Konnor
Summary: A man tries to see his uncle...regardless of what the law says


The city of Freeport lived up to its name. It had been built roughly fifty years previously and had been constructed with Japanese architecture in mind. Huge pagoda style buildings stretched over the dockside area. People dashed back and forth loading and unloading the tall masted schooners that continuously supplied the city with almost unseen levels of trade and commerce.

Small one storey warehouses ringed the dock and were constantly flowing with deckhands, first mates and cargo handlers. Horses were dragging big cargo boxes from the end of the docking slip into the warehouse where cargo 'rats' would unload them and allocate each piece of cargo to the area where the relevant customer would arrange to have it delivered.

I gently pushed myself through the throng of workers as I walked into the biggest warehouse on site. A company called 'Hayes'. I walked up to the foreman. A hugely muscled man who was shouting orders to the relevant 'rats' and ticking things off on his clipboard.

"Excuse me?"

He didn't look up, he kept checking his guide sheet as he allocated several pieces to the pertinent section of the warehouse

"Yeh?"

He kept ticking his sheet

"I'm looking for Captain Lorien? The Hazy Stream said he was down here"

He hawked and spat on the floor

"Bessie was wrong. He ain't here. Try the Militia outpost"

To my knowledge Bessie was a lot of things. Heavily muscled orc with the patience of an earthquake and a temper to boot and the only Orc madam who could out wrestle multiple 'gators while pleasing multiple visitors regardless of age, race, gender or temperament, but one thing she very rarely was, was wrong.

I coughed.

"I tried there. First place I tried. I know Malkin goes to Hazy Stream since he says that is the best place for drinks and..."

The man suddenly turned round and looked straight at me.

"Listen! He ain't here. Got it!"

I scratched my head. My long thick blonde hair was messed up even more than by the two month overland journey on a cargo caravan and the thirty six hour chase looking for my Uncle Lorien after I got off at the way stop at the edge of town

"I was so sure...is there anyone else I can talk to? Someone a bit more knowledgeable about comings and goings"

The clipboard dropped from his hands with the finality of a guillotine. The man turned his full attention to me. A curved boat hook appeared in his hand. I knew that its usual application was to grab cargo and move it around when it was awkward or too heavy to lift and I had also seen them used in close fighting where a few experts with them used them with great effect.

"Listen. He ain't here and even if he were, I wouldn't tell you where that traitorous murderous sonovabitch was lying. A lot of people here put their trust in him and then he goes and does...that!"

I looked around hoping to see what he was so emphatic about but the rats had all stopped working and they were all looking in my direction. I had dressed in my best and most rugged travel clothes. Leather greaves covered my shins. Arm bracers and a leather breastplate served as protection for all but the most hardened of muggers. Thigh length boots provided protection for the many miles I had to travel and still kept my feet comfortable, although I thought I would feel better after I was soaking in a nice big bath, but Uncle Lorien asked me to come see him right away so there I was trying to get sense out of the most nonsensical person I had ever seen

I pulled my hood up over my head, its dark colour and silver trim seemed to accentuate the shadows nearby. The dark colour of my coat seemed to deepen while the silver trim seemed to flare slightly. My face seemed to pull back into the hood and only my eyes were showing. My small command of magic allowed me to enhance my eyesight to the point where nothing was hidden from my sight. The small glamour placed on my coat heightened the shadows and while they were heightened everything looked so much more frightening, the rats started to shiver as the feeling of someone 'walking over their grave' seemed to affect them, or at least that was how it was explained to me.

My voice became more authoritarian and slightly more intimidating. To me, it seemed as normal as ever but to people around me the effect was almost...ghostly

"Where is Lorien!"

I looked deep into the man's eyes and I could see him trying to swing the boat hook around to hit me but the command path between his brain forming the thought and actual implementation of the action was almost supernaturally impossible. The fear he was feeling wouldn't let him accomplish this. It was taking all his effort to stand still

The man started to stutter an answer

"He gets hanged tomorrow morning..."

I clenched my fists tight.

This was not going to happen. I swore it to myself

_To be continued..._


End file.
